To Kill a Clucking Bird

Yes... that's right.  I had to kill a chicken.  The people of Monkey Point were being particularly extravagant with their meal-making while the rich, white, out-of-towners were on the Point doing what they do... so we had a chicken every night for dinner.  The first night I just ate the food - that was the extent of my involvement with the dinner-making process, but by the third night on the Point, they decided it would be fun to make the white girl kill the little clucker.

AAhhhhh.  Bird hearts beat at lightning speed, and when you're holding a freaked-out chicken in your arms, you can imagine it's poor little beater is pumping as hard as it pretty much can.  I had to slice his neck with a knife that was SORTA sharp... it required a few back-and-forth strokes before he was officially decapitated, and then hold the headless carcass for another 4 or 5 minutes while the poor thing flapped and bled away.  Oh my god.  I felt like I had to do some kind of spiritual cleansing afterward.  I have officially decided that I want to have nothing to do with the killing process of my food ever again.

Unfortunately the pics of me actually committing the deed aren't on the cameras I've managed to steal photos from - only the first one posted here, with me holding the bird, and being offered the murder weapon.  I did manage to get some pics of the process from the other days, however.  This pic, on the left, is of three people holding down the flapping, spasing chicken several minutes after it had already been decapitated.  Above is of Pito using a sawing motion.  God, I can still hear the bones grinding.

Pito kept telling me that I had to stop feeling sorry for the food.  One day I may forget the horrifying experience of committing murder, but I can tell you one thing... I still feel sorry for the food.